Running Shoes
by wehavedental
Summary: Lilah returns home to find someone unexpected. Lilah/Wes banter.


**Title:** Running Shoes

**Author:** Iris (wehavedental)

**Beta:** feralxheart

**A/N:** This short story takes place during the beginning of the fourth season. Wesley is alienated from the rest of the gang and finds himself with Lilah more and more often. Their relationship has just begun.

Lilah Morgan stopped just short of her apartment's front door, her breathing slightly irregular, but by no means faint. She stood there for almost a minute, panting, wiping sweat from her brow in a most unlike Lilah fashion. Finally catching her breath, she drew her keys from the side pocket of her jogging pants, and, after unlocking the front door, proceeded for the elevator. The back of her neck felt sticky with sweat. Without too much thought, she took a hair tie from her wrist and drew her hair into a ponytail, allowing her skin to breath.

As her laboured breathing slowed, she contemplated the concept of a good run. Before she had felt stiff--tense from a long day at work and the frustrations that came with it. Now she felt almost calm, even the muscles in her back and shoulders felt somewhat relaxed.

Lilah knew as well as anyone else that most of her co-workers would never consider her a peaceful soul. Hell, she was probably as far from peace as she could get with a job title such as, President of Special Projects _and _head of Wolfram & Hart. But for moments after her run, a new sort of clarity always struck her. Momentarily, she felt as if her body was telling her, "This is the most comfort you will ever get from this life." Others may have found this notion repelling, but Lilah Morgan embraced this knowledge. Small comforts were often the best kind.

Brushing her now unlawful bangs off her sweaty forehead was obviously not a task worth wasting effort on, but she attempted it anyways, her other hand reaching with the keys for her front door. Lilah didn't need someone to appear pretty for, it was simply her nature. What was the point of being beautiful if you were not aware of that beauty, and eager to embrace it. She would always look her best, no matter what her circumstances. Now all she needed was a hot shower and--

She stopped short in the doorway. Glancing around the dark apartment, she frowned, obvious to the fact that something was not quite right, "Who's there?"

"You've returned late."

A brief sigh of relief, followed by a surge of annoyance at being startled so easily, "What are you, my mother?" She quipped, covering her embarrassment. And then after a pause, "What are you doing here?"

"I was bored." A male, his tone was thoughtful, with more than a touch of a British accent, "Thought I'd take a stroll around the neighbourhood. Your place was nearby, I figured it couldn't hurt to drop by."

"Bull shit." Her voice held no real infliction, but she frowned as she kicked off her sweaty runners. Luckily the day had not come that he could properly fool her--she had known someone was in the room before the door had hardly been opened. That still didn't explain his unexpected arrival though, nor the fact that for the first time, he had sought her, and not the other way around. He sat in the far chair, he face shrouded by shadow. Even then she could see the brief glimmer of a teasing smile on his lips. "You live a 45 minute drive from my place." Unknown to him, she was searching the wall to her left for a light switch, his unexpected appearance making her clumsy. A few moments later, she roughly flipped the switch upward. The living room flooded with light, shining into the darkest corners, and eliminating the man's face. Wesley squinted due to the bright shock of light against his eyes, his pupils dilating rapidly. She would have taken pleasure in startlingly him, but the brief teasing smile on his face kept her features remote.

He chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he'd been caught in a very poor lie. "Maybe I just wanted to see your pretty face."

"Maybe you're drunk." By now it was quite obvious that he was. He slouched in a way that someone else might have taken for laziness. Lilah, however, took this for what it really was. In reality, Wesley had always held himself perfectly. It was rare that even grievous revelations could pull those shoulders down, and yet here he was, cool as a cucumber, lazily flounced in her favourite chair. Thought she would never mouth the words in present company, she had always appreciated a man with good posture. The other hint was the faint smile, of mockery, but also of many other things that she knew would never fall on Wesley's lips. Who knows, maybe he was even thinking of her. He had gone as far to say she was beautiful, hadn't he?

This notion did not warm her, and she completely her thought with sudden infliction "And _maybe_ you shouldn't be in my apartment." She glanced around her apartment suspiciously, as if to find evidence that he had been going through her things while she was away. "What were you looking for?"

"Looking for?" He gave a brief snort of laughter. His eyes closed for only a moment, head lolling to one side, held up by his left hand. Possibly, Lilah thought, it was the only thing holding him up. Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, he recovered somewhat, raising his eyes to meet hers. They said, _"I'm drunkenly amused by this whole situation, and am waiting for you to make the next move."_

Thoroughly disgusted by this point, Lilah could hardly contain her own inter monologue, _'Trust Wesley to break into his enemy's apartment while completely smashed, and then sit with an air that said, "I have a right to be here."_

"I didn't touch anything. Well, okay, that's a lie." Another brief chuckle, though he looked away this time. His eyes settle on the coffee table in front of him. "There was some scotch on the table, "Forgive me, I helped myself." He shook his head, as if hoping it would clear the fuzziness of his vision. "Did you just come back from a run?" He eyed the cords she wore with interest. Any other time, Lilah might have accused him of undressing her with his eyes, but she was beyond playful banter.

His mild curiosity startled her, and she forced herself to remain composed. Giving that her outside appearance was currently sweaty and practically unkept, this was difficult. Her eyes, drawn to the table, took in the fact that the bottle of scotch was now quite a bit more empty than when she had left it. An empty glass stood behind it. She glared, "You still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"No, actually I did answer it, you just weren't listening." He said this quiet articulately for a man who had looked like he was about to fall out of his chair a moment ago, and she pondered that perhaps he was acting. She dismissed the thought, pushing it to the back of her mind. What did he hope to find in her, anyway?

She frowned. Then, giving into the fact that he probably wasn't leaving anytime soon, went to grab a glass from the cupboard. With present company, scotch was starting to sound more and more appealing. From the kitchen she called, quite casually, "So, when did us being fuck-buddies suddenly turn into, hey let's hold hands in public, and tell each other our deepest darkest secrets?" She returned to the living room, glass in hand. Her voice was more firm this time, "I'm suppose to come to you, not come home to find you waiting on my door step like a dog."

"I never thought of you as the running type, really." He pondered in a casual voice.

If Lilah has been alone she probably would have, in one of her brief lack-of-grace moments, put her head into her hands in frustration. He wasn't even listening to her. Instead, she sighed, rolled the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows, and began pouring herself a glass of scotch, "What's it to you?"

"Nothing in particular. As I said, I was bored, and this is the best conversation I've had all week."

"So you decided to get completely smashed and come knock on my door looking for a conversation? Oh wait, let me rephrase that…you didn't knock, you just broke in. Very charming, Wesley. Come to think of it, I doubt you're just looking for a conversation, either." She settled back into her chair, as if she had won a small victory with her accusations. Who knows, maybe she had.

He had come to her, and even though the notion bothered her, it also touched her in a small way. Their encounters had always been intimate, always left the other craving more of what had always been forbidden. Light mixing with dark--that sort of thing was never easily tamed in the end. She embraced the thought of him coming to her, because it meant that he needed more, and was desperate enough to admit it. Lilah coming to him was not the same, because she recognized that at the drop of the hat she could leave, she could walk away. None of it would make a difference. He was just a pawn, and she was unmoving.

Right?

"I wasn't looking for sex." The abruptness of his response startled her. _So much for that idea._

"So…what? You want to talk? Is that it?"

He shrugged modestly, an ample gesture for one as far gone as himself, "It would be a start."

"To what? You don't honestly expect to hold hands do you?" An eyebrow quirked, almost amused at the thought.

He sighed, wiping his eyes roughly as if trying to clear sleep, "Why don't you just start by telling me why you run?" He choose this moment to pour himself another shot of scotch. Wesley picked it up the glass, swirling the amber liquid as he waited for her response.

And, as much as it was a surprise to her as it was to everyone else, Lilah considered it. Briefly, though the thought almost held. Pouring herself her own glass of scotch, she curled up on the couch and began to speak, slowly sipping her scotch during brief pauses in her recollections. The taste was strong, and fiery. It had once, a long time ago, made her throat burn and her eyes water. Now it soothed her--warmed her, "Everyone has problems." She began in a way that did not quite seem to do the tale justice, but was true none the less.

"Apparently." He interrupted, amusement crackling behind his blue-green eyes. "Mine include never being able to turn down that last drink and involving myself in an adulterous affair with a women so evil--"

"You're drunk." She reply, her tone almost patronizing, her features betrayed her amusement, "Our affair isn't adulterous, its perfectly lawful."

"But, you must admit, you're still evil."

"And you're still trying my patience."

His eyes meet hers, "Obviously that wasn't the point. The point, as it so happens, is that everyone has problems…so do get on with it, and tell me what yours is. What are you running from?" There was a playful glee in his eyes, but the rest of his body showed expectance. Whatever the information she decided to lay on the table, he was keen to absorb. Leaning forward, his head propped up with one hand, he waited eagerly.

"Take a wild guess." She brought the glass to her lips once again, this time taking far more than a sip from it. The rush of the fire on her lips seem to bring her back to her senses, and she stiffened, reminding herself that opening herself up to admit even trivial notions in the grand scheme of things was dangerous. Wesley was no more than a stranger to her. True, a stranger with just a hint of charm, and mind full of information and possibilities that she couldn't even begin to comprehend, but a stranger none the less. She had yet to show such vulnerability, and did not plan on it in the future.

"Family problems? A history of mental and emotional abuse?" He seemed to recognize he was babbling, but continued on, "Working for a evil law firm finally made you realize what a horrible person you are?"

She smiled blandly, "You sure know how to butter me up."

"So what is it then?"

"…I just like the exercise."

He seemed to be withholding a chuckle, and she waited, allowing him to calm himself enough to response, "You're serious?" This time he failed to slur as much as he should have, considering his role.

She smirked, "No, but good try at trying to play dumb. Get out."

He tensed, and she immediately knew that she should have made the statement earlier in the conversation. Maybe a good actor, but a damn poor liar, indeed. "What do you mean?"

"You're not drunk."

With this, he straightened, the glass in his hand was set on the table with remarkable ease for someone would probably could not have stood properly upright, previously. "What gave it away?"

"The bottle that is almost completely empty--I bought it yesterday, you know. There's no way you polished it off in the thirty minutes I was away. If anything, I should be angry at you for wasting a perfectly good bottle of scotch. That, and the drunken tone. Slurred speech one moment, and then perfectly articulate the next." She paused, letting her words sink in. Plainly, the gig was up.

He gave a weary sigh as if accepting defeat, but she wasn't finished with him yet, "I'm not your damsel in distress. If you were looking for some deep dark secret, some horrible past that you think you can save me from, you're wrong."

"I just wanted to see the real you. Perhaps I was hoping you aren't quite as perfect as you appear." His words were almost kind, but the fear in his eyes told her it was a lie.

"Nobody, _ever_, wants to see the real you." Her words cut like daggers, "You were searching for my weaknesses. You wanted to exploit me. And do you know why that is? It's because you're just testing yourself. All this talk about good and evil, light and dark…you just want to know where you stand. You want to have something so that if darkness ever starts to looks just a little too black, you can turn the lights back on. Maybe you think they'll let you back into their little circle if you can give them something good from the inside?" By his reaction, her words seem to mark dead center. Unexpectedly, they were both standing now. The words she spoke were quiet, but deadly. This message could be delivered with no more than triumph in her voice, because it didn't take mind readers for both of them to know that her words rang true.

She was very aware that she was hitting home with every remark. His sculptured jaw clenched in a way that looked almost painful, and his hands balled into fists. She wouldn't have been surprised if he opened his hands and found bright red half moons carved into his palms later, an imprint resulting from his silent acceptance. "They won't ever ask you back, Wesley. You've changed, and they don't want someone they have to fix. Their great and fearless leader, Angel, has enough baggage for everyone without throwing you into the mix."

"Everyone is always running from something." He replied, somewhat lamely.

"Just get out." And, tripping over her old pair of runners, he did just that. His perfect posture had returned but every other little thing about him admitted defeat as he fled from the room. That was the Wesley she knew. Even in battle, mortally wounded…still a trooper .

She locked the door behind him, promising herself that tomorrow she would make a point of hiring someone to put new wards around her place. Anything to gain control.

Distracted, a smile graced her lips. Bending over, she straightened the one shoe, knocked out of place by Wesley's absently place foot. Running shoes, she thought happily. Even with simply the touch of their now cold exterior, and the faint smell of sweat in the air, she was reminded of their power. Tomorrow would be a new day, filled with hard work, the possibility of backstabbing employees, and lustful encounters, but most prominently, was the sureness of the run. The thirty minutes of the day that she, herself, held the power over the sway of her life. With this notion, she was able to block out the pitiful image of Wesley from her mind. Downing the last few drops in her glass, she allowed herself to dose off.

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